A Better Offer
by Joodiff
Summary: Grace has plans and Boyd's not happy. Challenge response. Complete. Enjoy!


**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing.

 **A/N:** _this tiny fic is the result of a challenge set today by Got Tea who provided the first couple of lines. 500-1000 words, to be written in an evening._

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 **A Better Offer**

by Joodiff

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"You can't be serious, Grace!" growls Boyd, clearly stunned.

"I am," she replies, resolute. Steady.

She stands her ground, refuses to move. To give in. "Don't push me," she warns. "I'm not going to change my plans just because it suits _you_."

Sometimes, she can be every bit as stubborn as he can. Just as unreasonable on occasions, too. Today – _tonight_ – she doesn't think she's being unreasonable. Not at all. He's known about her plans for at least the last week, after all, and just because he –

"Look," he says, interrupting her dark thoughts, "I know you told me about this evening, but – "

"Kevin Jones," she cuts in before he can get into his stride, "has been dead for sixteen years, Boyd. Eve's told you that she won't have anything further for us until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, and Kat and Spencer have already spoken to his widow. I am _not_ trading a pleasant evening in Covent Garden for sitting around here twiddling my thumbs while you march up and down theorising."

"Grace…"

"No," she tells him. It's time to make a stand. Long past time, in all honesty. "In ten minutes, I'm turning off my computer, putting on my coat and walking out of here for the night. What _you_ choose to do is entirely up to you, however. Stay here all night if you really want to. But if you do…"

His expression hardens. The dark eyes become flinty. "Are you threatening me, Grace?"

Holding up her hands in exasperation, she counters, "I'm neither that stupid nor that childish. I'm merely pointing out – "

"Because if you are – "

"Stop it," she orders, her sternness even surprising herself. "Honestly, Boyd… What's the matter with you today? You've been in a bad mood ever since the alarm went off."

"I hate your alarm. It's too bloody loud."

The sullen, sulky set of his mouth reminds her of a fractious toddler who's on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum. Probably not too far from the truth. "Oh, for heaven's _sake_ …"

Glowering, Boyd starts to prowl her office, the tight, stiff-backed way he moves telling Grace a great deal about his current state of mind. Not looking at her, he says, "We could go and interview – "

"No," she says again, shaking her head. "It's nearly six, and I have an appointment."

"'An appointment'."

The bitter, sardonic note in his voice doesn't escape her. Glaring at the back of his head, she says, "That's right. An _appointment_. With my publisher. Which you've known about for – "

"I bloody hate _him_ , too," he blurts out, turning on his heel to face her. "He's a pretentious, obsequious – "

Clarity. Perfect clarity. Like the clichéd bolt from the blue.

"You're jealous," she says, not able to keep the sudden wonderment out of her voice. "Oh my God… that's what all this is about… I'm seeing Roger and you're _jealous_."

Boyd scowls, but doesn't deny the accusation. "The man's a weasel, Grace. A money-grabbing, self-serving little bastard who – "

He's really rather magnificent when he's riled. She's always thought so.

Doing her best to hide her glee, she interrupts his tirade with, "So come with me."

He stares at her in blank surprise, as if she's suddenly started to speak a completely foreign language. "What?"

"Come with me," Grace repeats patiently. "To the restaurant. I'm sure Roger will be absolutely _delighted_ to see you again."

"You think?" he replies, both his tone and his elevated eyebrows indicating that he hasn't come anywhere close to forgetting the first time they met. It very nearly came to blows, she remembers. All an unfortunate misunderstanding, of course, but there's no doubt that neither of the two men has much time for the other.

"I'm going because I have to," she tells him, quiet and patient, "not because I want to. Though it's a very nice restaurant."

" _I_ take you to nice restaurants," he says, a hint of indignation in his voice.

"Yes," Grace agrees soothingly, "you do. When you remember that there's more to life than murder, mayhem and pre-packed sandwiches."

Boyd stares at her for a moment, then walks towards her desk, skirting the edge of it until he's standing right next to her. Looking down, he says, "Call him. Tell him something's cropped up and you can't make it tonight."

Forceful. Interesting. She eyes him with genuine curiosity. "Why?"

"Because if you do," he all-but purrs, "not only will I take you home and cook you dinner, but I'll…" he stoops, and whispers the rest of the sentence directly into her ear.

Grace is an experienced woman of the world, and she doesn't blush easily. But her face still feels a little warm several minutes later when she reaches out to her desk phone to dial Roger's number…

 _\- the end -_


End file.
